Disclaimer: I do not own anything but the plot, nor do I pretend to.
There was something about Halloween that was just plain old thrilling. To the small children running around and screaming in the dark, it was simply the "scariness" of the holiday that was thrilling to them, but Lydia had never been particularly scared by the practical jokes that were often played, not even as a child. She would still however say that Halloween was, in fact, her favourite season. Though she herself would not put her finger on what it was that she always liked about it, it was not a big secret that is to be revealed.
On Halloween everyone, and not just Lydia herself, wore a mask. It was the one time of a year where everyone was encouraged to pretend to be someone that they were not. Lydia Martin was not exactly apt to pretending to be another person (except in the case of her intellectual skills, she was rather honest) however there was always a disconnect between herself and her relationship to others. Lydia did not allow people to be close to her. Whether through direct actions, or manner of speaking people were always kept at an arm's length away - kept in the place where they were safest.
While no one came right out and stated it, Halloween was the sort of holiday where everybody did the same thing. The act of dressing up and appearing as someone else, hid your true identity and therefore kept whatever relationships you may or may not be making from being fully formed relationships. After all, until the next day, when the costume was shed and real life began again, any relationship that had been created and sustained up until that point, was in part based off lies.
Adorned with a cloak that was as red as her painted lips, the hood kept neatly in place upon her head with a set of strategically placed bobby pins, all of which covered a piece of material that was barely long enough to count as a dress, Lydia was quite content with her choice this Halloween. No one made quite as good a little red riding hood as herself, she wondered why anyone else would even bother. Not that she made a public announcement of her intended attire, people should just know better.
"Looking for a big bad wolf darling?"
The owner of the voice did not even need a verbal acknowledgement of the line that he crossed. All it took was a scornful look from the pretty red-head for him to realize that not only had his advances been rejected, but there was a high chance that if his hand did not remove itself from it's represent location its safety would no longer be guaranteed. Thankfully, for that poor and innocent hand (it was hardly the appendage's fault that it had been attached to such an ill deserving specimen of the human race) its owner was intelligent enough to react to the signs that were before him. (If we were being honest, it was more likely that he was merely sober enough to see the signs that were placed before him. Giving enough alcohol and this young gentleman would be the same as any of the others that she had to use a little more force to get passed).
Initially, the party had seemed like an excellent idea; booze, music, costumes and trouble. It was one of those things that drew all the teenagers of a certain age, not just the ones from her particular school, which meant that surely there had to be at least one eligible male worth her note. But it had taken barely more than an hour for the whole thing to become tedious in Lydia Martin's eyes. Still, she was a stubborn girl, and decided to ride out the following hours in hopes that if she wandered the overcrowded rooms enough than something of worth would show itself.
When that turned out to be a royal failure, it had seemed best to bail on the entire situation - there was little reason to waste her time further than she already had.
A proud creature, when disappointed, Lydia was unable to admit to herself the expectations that she had built that were not met. The general understanding that she found herself too good for everything, and therefore nothing could be anything short of disappointing served as an explanation for any situation as thus, and any event that fell into a category above disappointed was an extraordinary and wonderful coincident. Needless to say, this is a long and rambling way of stating, despite the fact that there was one reason, and one reason only not a single male in that room had fallen into the standards she had set up for them, Derek Hale was never going to show up in this conversation should Lydia have anything to do with it.
Had he deemed the party worth his notice (as she had hinted he should do several time in their last few rendezvous) there would have been little doubt that her attention would be his reward for lowering himself to such a level as a high school kegger. Though, there was also have been parameters to the attention that he gained. Worthy or not, Lydia had an image to uphold; most of the Neanderthals that existed in this sort of soiree could not get it through their exceptionally thick skull that a person like Derek was not the same as a person like them. They see her giving anyone the time of day as an invitation to themselves to give it a try.
As if.
The hard clack of the hard bottom of her heals bouncing against the equally hard ground was the only sound that filled her lonely retreat from the noisy house. It was a stark contrast, that sharp almost melodic sound alone in the world after the drowning, obnoxiously absorbing sound of music, drunkenness, body's smashing against each other. If she were a person prone to flight of fancies, in superstitions and paranoia, she would be willing to say that it was that silent that made the evening colder than it might have been otherwise.
It emphasized the isolation that her own demeanour created; an isolation that would surely make anyone feel cold were they to dwell upon the thought too long. Therefore it was a very good thing Lydia never thought about such an outcome of her life if she could help it. And she had structured her days, her thoughts, and her life so that there would be very little reason to think about how she had pushed everybody away to better hide inside of herself.
It wasn't like she, of the beautiful face, desirable body, stable social life, and above average intellect, had anything to hide from. Anyone, anyone would kill to be her - she had no reason to dislike it; she would never desire to give it up.
Therefore, the only reaction the chilling sound gave her was an instinct to pull the flimsy red cloak closer to her barely clad body, looking for warmth from a cold that was not entirely external. Her dark eyes continued to look at the road around her with a mostly disinterested appearance. If one were to look long enough, they would be able to see the worry that was lurking behind the defiant eyes and frowning lips. The thought that as dull as it was, that staying at the party might have been a better idea was shoved aside every time that she thought about it.
What good would that have done her? She was not trusting any of those alcoholics to drive her home (she was not an imbecile, despite what some of those people who actually were idiotic thought of her), and where else was she expected to find someone to drive her? The lone parental action that had appeared this month was to take away her only form of transportation for some action that hardly deserved such a punishment. Overcompensation for not paying attention the other thirty days of the month obviously.
By foot really had been the best option to get out of that place, and Lydia had needed to leave that place. Someone was going to get hurt if she had stayed amongst the teenagers much longer, and it was not going to be herself.
It wasn't that far to her house from here anyway; the biggest complaint that strawberry blonde had was in fact her own comfort. The shoes that she had chosen to wear complimented her outfit in the perfect way (balanced the whole thing) however they were not the sort of footwear that had been intended for a mile or so walk from one place to another. She could already feel the blisters forming on the back of her heals and around her toes where they were pinched.
It was as she stalled in her walking, weighing the pros and cons of wearing her shoes and getting blisters, or taking them off and risking whatever unusual form of death the unmonitored sidewalk could do to her, that the voice interrupted her thoughts.
"Hardly the place for a doll like you to be standing all alone; the streets aren't safe you know."
The car had been unnoticed by Lydia for the mere fact that if she had been weighing the odds it was far more likely that the vehicle and whoever was driving it would have gone right passed her, rather than stopping to talk to her. Someone on foot would have caught her attention far more than the motorized object. The downside to having the IQ high enough to understand the variables of chance. When you were smart enough to know that most things are not as dangerous as those of a lower intelligence level thought, you ran the risk of falling into those rare freak chances.
"I think I'll be alright." The girl intoned with an annoyed scoff. She did not bother to even look at the young gentleman who was driving the beat up old car. The voice was unfamiliar enough that she knew he would not be getting any closer to herself. (If she happened to be the type of person who remembered those who talked to her, she would have realized that this was the same individual who had been smart enough to remove his hand from her shoulder when his first pick up attempt had failed. The theory that when plied with a few more beers he was just as intellectually inferior as the rest of his gender had proven to be correct.)
"Come on babe, let me give you a lift."
This comment did happen to earn his junker a look, but only so that the girl could be even more confident when her words left her mouth, "I wouldn't be caught dead in a dump like that."
By this point in the conversation the girl had continued to walk again, her arms wrapped in the cloak that she wore, so she would have a better grip to intern wrap the material around herself. Her movements however did not stop her new companion, who only allowed his car to creep forward at a snail pace so that he could continue his conversation (read: harassment) of the newest object of his attention. When drunk, this sort of trailing was not an uncommon habit of our buddy, not that this fact makes what he was doing any more or less redeeming. It would still be frowned upon whether it was the first or the fiftieth time. However, knowing that it was closer to the fifty side of the spectrum could perhaps make his later fate more redeemable.
Perhaps. It all depends on the type of person you are.
"Are you implying that there is something wrong with my car or just myself? Do you believe you are too good for me?"
"Give the boy a prize, he finally caught on."
There was a squeal of breaks at the vehicle in question stopped. Considering that Lydia had been hoping that it's progression would speed up and move away from her, not stop entirely, her reaction to this turn of events was not the most positive. Internally there was an increase in the worry, the cold foreboding that the clack of her shoes had managed to give her. While that worry had been irrational enough that she had been able to talk it off, she was not so sure about this one. She was by no means a damsel, but it was late. It was dark. He was larger than her (and probably angry, no matter how reasonable her assessment of himself had been) and definitely drunk. The latter could prove to be an advantage to her should he be drunk enough to hinder his dexterity. However, she had no proof of that, and plenty of internet video proof that said drunk people could be unbelievably stubborn, and persistent.
All of this information concluded to Lydia Martin that the last place she wanted to be was alone on the street with this boy.
So she turned into the forest.
To some, this might not have seemed like the better choice to make. At least in the street, as empty as it was now, there was a chance that should anything underhanded happen, if she screamed loud enough someone would come to her aid. Who was there that existed in the woods to offer her that sort of aid?
As far as Lydia was aware, there was no one in that sort of situation, with that sort of disposition to help her inside the woods, but she was just as convinced there would be very little aid outside on the street either. She was not, as it were, a great optimist on the nature of humanity. What Lydia was confident in was that she was sober and he was not - perhaps drunk this man would know the woods, (hell there was even a chance that drunk he would as well) but Lydia was confident enough that she knew the way home. And he was unlikely to know those sorts of specifics.
She was not a woods person, Lydia Martin. In fact, she rather hated the fact that her woods were right beside her house, and that she was obligated to think about them in any manner. Woods were dark, dirty, and a pain in the ass to walk around. It was impossible to properly accessorize any sort of outfit that was suitable to a functional hike, or hunt through the woods. However, all that being said, she had lived in the same house for most of her life, and the woods had always been there - and there was always one path to get to and from her house to the main part of town.
There was a time in her life when accessorizing was less of an obsession as simply getting from place A to place B with the least amount of time. In that phase, youthful ignorance she would put it off as now should anyone who also had a long enough memory, would address it, she had managed to get enough of an understanding of the woods to be confident that she knew her way around it. And she certainly had a high enough memory level to be able to find in again, no matter how many years it had been since she had entered this place.
So, to a common person who did not have all the facts, this would in fact seem like a miss step, a place that was more likely to cause her more trouble rather than less, but once all of this was put into the picture, there was some logic to Lydia's plan of survival.
The biggest thing however, and the one that was quickly proven to be a very hallow hope, was that the boy had always planned on staying in his car, and once it was obvious that she had gone into a place that his vehicle could not follow her, he would simple give up. It was not long after she had carefully moved herself through the overgrowth that she heard the sharp sound of a twig snapping. A sure sign that someone else had followed her into the woods. Someone who did not have enough sense to at least avoid the roots if he could not find the path.
Honestly, even if someone had never stepped into a forest, that fact was common sense. You don't want to be noticed? You want to have a decent level of a surprise? Don't go about walking around like you're a demented elephant.
Even though it was late October and most of the leaves had coloured and fallen from their branches already, there was still a modest covering from the bright full moon that had been guiding her movements on the streets. It was harder to find where she was going with this level of darkness, and in that instant, Lydia became slightly less confident in her old memories.
Everything looked different in the dark; the shadows were longer, and the leaves and branches that she had used to mark her way when she was seven or eight did not appear to be in the same places that they had been before. And if she had thought that her shoes were bad before, they were certainly worse here where the ground was uneven and wet, covered with debris and dead things that she hoped were all of the flora family.
It wasn't, in the end, the shoes that proved to be her downfall. As much as anyone would believe that the three inch heels had to have been the thing that limited her movement so much that anyone, drunk or sober, knowledgeable or not, could have caught up with her, it was in fact the bright red cape that was so essential to her costume that was not essential to her survival in this case. Not even, for the reason that would be thought. The shadows, and natural change of the leaves at this time of season actually masked her accessory quite well. What caused the problem was when the long material became tangled in a bush, causing her steps to be halted, springing the delicate girl backwards and once the choking sound was gone from her throat, a scream came out after it.
It was only once her ears were able to pick up the sound of crunching leaves coming at a faster pace that she took a second to look back and see that the thing that was holding her back was not a person but foliage. The dread that came with realizing she had given out her position, taken away part of the only advantage that this absurd detour had had clouded her judgement for only a moment. It did not even take her the time it would have taken to lean over and attempt to untangle the thing (the branches had previously torn the object, and it was the unraveling strains that hand tangled themselves up in the thorn that was creating this trap) for her to realize that that would waste whatever lead she had on the idiotic maniac who thought that chasing a girl through the woods for God knows what was a good idea. Instead she immediately drew back, and undid the clasp that was keeping the cloak around her neck.
Having forgotten about the clips, there was a slight tug as the hood had to come out of her hair, causing it to frizz out at odd angles (something she did think about for half a moment before remembering she did in fact have bigger problems), before she was free, and walking down the path once more, this time at a much quicker pace. The footsteps of her assailant were much closer than they had been before, and she had no interest in figuring out what he thought he was going to get from her. When she said no, she most definitely meant no.
And she was going to go to whatever length that she could to prove such a fact. Only, well... the shoes might not have been the cause of her downfall, at least initially, but the more that she felt the need to hurry, the more that she realized they were becoming a bigger problem. No longer was she even worried about the pain that they were causing her (at least no primarily. There was still a part of her brain that was cursing the young gentleman for this suffering alone. If she had her way she would make sure that she got redemption for such an effort. He was certainly never having any social standing at any school again, not if Lydia had a say in it. Which she obviously would when she was done with all of this). The ground was damp from the rain that morning, and with every step that she took, the heel of her shoe would sink in deeper than the sole and she was at a risk of losing a shoe every moment. In fact, it was not long after she lost the cloak that her left shoe came off into the dirt too. She almost turned back for it, only she caught a flash of a person in the distance, but gaining on her fast enough that not even her Prada shoe was worth it.
Lydia was leaving a -rather expensive - trail of clothing in her wake. And it wasn't even the good kind of losing clothing.
Swearing, the only kind of mourning she was able to give her shoe, the girl took off again, wobbling horribly, but unwilling to lose the second shoe. It was completely illogical considering the fact that one shoe was worthless without the other, but they were Prada you did not just give up Prada.
A growl behind her, caused her heart to jump, and her feet to move quicker. There was hope, and that hope was the only thing that kept her from screaming out right (yet again). Not a few feet before her was the opening to the forest, and the stairs that lead up the hill to her backyard visible from that gap. In her eagerness to move that distance however, the girl forgot the careful method that she had gotten to compensate for her lack of shoe. Moving faster than she had the ability to do so, Lydia stumbled over the final gap, falling so that her hand grazed against the pavement of the final step, and she lost the last shoe.
Perhaps if she had simply gotten up at that point, and thought nothing of her shoe and continued to climb up the stairs that lead to the familiarity that she knew, the safe if lonely home that she knew and get away from the insanity that her evening had turned into. But, well...
It was Prada.
What followed in that moment, what she saw when she turned to grab her shoe would always (even once she had been given an explanation) be marked in her memory with confusion. Part of the problem was the thing whatever it was moved so quickly that it was more or less a blur. A blur that looked a lot like a person (and not just any person but-but-) but not quite a person either. They had claws, and-and their eyes were glowing. Lydia did not need her genius level IQ to state that eyes were not supposed to be glowing.
Whatever it was though came running out of the woods at a speed too quick to be natural for humans, claws shredding shamelessly into the chest of her attacker. The angry roars and growls were too animalistic to be believed human and yet the fold and plains of its back were entirely... well human.
Hand hovering over the shoe that she had been going for, a scream erupted from Lydia's lips filling the entire area before a hand came to cover her mouth affectively ending the sounds. The creature (she had no other word for what it could be) turned at the sound, her eyes meeting it's glowing ones, and she knew it, she knew him.
She was gone, shoes forgotten, taking the steps two at a time until she was pushing her way pace the gate that was her backyard, leaning against the tall wall that her mother had, had built long ago for privacy. Shaking she had been unable to move, even though all she wanted to do was return to her room, go to the safety of her familiar house and forget all that had just happened. But moving felt impossible. Instead she could only stand there, the sounds of her ragged breath filling the cool air around her.
It was in that manner that she heard it, that she had been susceptible to the familiarity of it, the way that it was pleading with her. The fact that she wanted to know, wanted to know if that voice could tell her.
"Lydia?"
At least, every time that he said her name, she thought that she did.
"I know you're still there, Lydia."
Hand running along the edge of the wall she took slow and hesitant steps back towards where she had come from. Face pale, eyes wide, and mouth slightly open she hesitantly lowered herself down the top few steps as she met the unreadable gaze of Derek Hale.
She couldn't bring herself lower than halfway. Despite the fact that she thought she knew his face, (it was quite clear he had been keeping some very large something from her) she did not want to be close to him. She did not want to risk danger, nor did she want to look at the bloodied form behind him.
"Is he-he dead?"
"Do you want him to be?"
"No." She wanted his social life to be dead, sure, but she didn't want to be responsible for his murder. She was not that cruel to people.
"Then no."
She did not know what reaction that was supposed to receive so she simply nodded her head, eyes looking over the man that she had been spending all her time with lately, and wondering just how fooled she had been. How much danger had she been in? What had she gotten herself into?
"What are you?" She finally broke the silence, her confusion evident on every part of her face. There was the part of her that was curious, horrified, yes but also curious. Answers were the only way that she learned things, and she wanted answer but at the same time this seemed like something that was so much bigger than she wanted in her life.
Though it might be too late, might it?
"Lydia -"
Three things happened at once. He stepped forward, Lydia stepped back, and the body that was on the ground let out a groan. It was that groan more than anything that pushed her too far. That emphasized in her mind everything that had just happened. That man was bleeding. He could have been dying despite what Derek had said. This was all just...
"No."
Too much.
"No, don't, don't tell me, don't say anything. This isn't happening," with each word she walked back up the stairs, wanting to get as far away from him as possible but unwilling to let him -whatever he was - out of her sight, "Just leave me alone. Whatever you are."
Turning at the gate, she ran the rest of the way to her house, closing the door behind her and trying not to think about Derek Hale.
A/N: Well that was that chapter. Quite a bit longer than the last one (part of the reason it took a little longer to write out) and a few moments where I'm personally not to sure about the writing, but I hope that you all enjoyed it none the less. As always I would love to hear what you think, especially anything constructive, I would like to improve where ever you think I might be able to! Hope not to take too long to update again.
